Please Come Back, My Love Chapter 53

Elena: POV

I drifted back to sleep eventually, exhausted from thinking and trying to make sense of the wreckage my life had become.

When I woke up, weak sunlight filtered through Sophia's bedroom curtains. The space beside me was empty, the sheets cold. She'd been gone for hours.

I heard noise from the kitchen—clattering dishes, the hiss of the coffee maker. The familiar sounds of morning.

I dragged myself out of bed and padded into the main living area. Sophia stood at the stove, flipping pancakes, her back to me. She was wearing fresh clothes—jeans and a cashmere sweater I'd never seen before.

"Morning," I said, my voice still rough from sleep.

She jumped slightly, then turned with a too-bright smile. "Elena! You're up. I'm making breakfast."

Something felt off. The smile didn't reach her eyes.

"You went out last night," I said.

Her smile flickered. "What? No, I—"

"Sophia." I crossed my arms. "I heard you leave. Around one AM."

For a second, she looked panicked. Then she laughed—light, dismissive. "Oh, that. Yeah, I got a call from work. Some emergency with a shipment. Had to go sort it out."

*Liar.*

But I didn't push. If she wanted to tell me, she would. And if she didn't, that was her right.

"Come eat," she said, turning back to the stove. "You need to keep your strength up. For the baby."

She reached over and pinched my cheek playfully. "Don't worry about me, okay? I'm fine. If something was really wrong, I'd tell you."

When she leaned over to grab the syrup, her sweater shifted, and I caught a glimpse of dark marks on her collarbone. Hickeys. Definitely fresh—they hadn't been there yesterday morning when we'd talked last night.

Would she really tell me? I wasn't so sure. But I nodded anyway.

---

I'd submitted my resignation to Sterling Fashion HQ three days after arriving at Sophia's. An email to HR, brief and professional. *Due to personal circumstances, I'm resigning effective immediately. Thank you for the opportunity.*

No response yet. Maybe they were relieved. Maybe they were scrambling. Maybe they didn't give a shit.

I told myself I didn't care.

The week that followed was a blur of fabric and thread. I threw myself into making Arthur's vest, desperate for something to focus on besides my crumbling marriage.

Sophia was gone most of the time during those days—early mornings, late nights. She'd text me updates: *Stuck in meetings* or *Grabbing dinner with clients* or *Running errands, be back late.*

I didn't ask questions. Mostly because I was too focused on my own project.

Arthur's vest.

I'd decided on a classic three-piece look—charcoal gray wool for the suit jacket and trousers he already owned, with a vest in deep burgundy silk to complement them. Something elegant. Something that would make him feel special without being too flashy.

I spent hours at my makeshift workspace in Sophia's guest room, sketching and re-sketching. The lines had to be perfect.

The proportions had to flatter his frame—still strong despite his age, but softer around the middle now.

I wanted buttons that meant something. So I went to a vintage shop in the Village and found a set of brass ones with tiny engravings—flowers that reminded me of the Connecticut estate gardens where I'd grown up. Where Arthur had always made me feel like I belonged.

For the fabric, I hit up the Garment District. Ran my fingers over bolt after bolt until I found the perfect weight—something with just enough structure to hold its shape, but soft enough to drape well.

The woman at the counter gave me a knowing look. "Special occasion?"

"Birthday," I said. "For someone who deserves the world."

She smiled. "He's lucky to have you."

*If only that were true.*

---

Back at Sophia's place, I cleared the dining table and spread out the fabric. Cutting the pieces felt meditative. Pinning them together. Running them through Sophia's old sewing machine that I'd borrowed.

But late at night, when the apartment was quiet and I was alone with my thoughts, I'd check my phone. Scroll through my messages. Look for his name.

*Julian.*

Nothing. Not a single text. Not a call. Not even a fucking email.

Part of me had expected him to reach out. To beg me to come back. To promise things would be different.

*But why the hell would he do that? He's never loved you. Never wanted you for anything more than sex and convenience.*

The realization settled over me like a heavy blanket. Cold. Suffocating. Final.

He'd held onto the marriage because of his pride. His possessiveness. His need to control. Not because he actually gave a damn about me.

And now that I'd left, he was probably relieved. Probably already planning how to explain it to his grandfather. Probably already thinking about Victoria.

*Good. Let him have her. Let them be together.*

---

By Friday afternoon—exactly one week after I'd left Julian—the vest was finished.

I'd hand-stitched the lining—champagne-colored silk that would feel soft against Arthur's skin. Added tiny hidden pockets on the inside because I knew he liked to carry his reading glasses and his pocket watch.

The final touch was embroidering his initials on the inside back panel. *A.S.* In thread so dark it was almost invisible unless you looked close.

A secret. Just for him.

I held it up to the light, examining every seam, every stitch. It was perfect. The best work I'd ever done.

*At least I can give him this. At least I can show him I was grateful for everything he did for me.*

Sophia came home late that night, looking exhausted. She dropped her bag by the door and collapsed onto the couch beside me.

"Is that it?" she asked, nodding at the vest.

"Yeah."

"It's beautiful, Elena."

"Thanks." I folded it carefully, wrapping it in tissue paper. "One more thing to do tomorrow. Then it's done."

She squeezed my shoulder. "He's going to love it."

I hoped so. God, I hoped so.

---

I also spent that week thinking about what came next while I worked on the vest. After the birthday party. After the divorce went through. After I was finally free.

I wasn't going to stay in New York. That much I knew. This city held too many memories.

No. I needed to leave. Start over somewhere new.

Maybe Europe. Paris, or Barcelona, or Milan. Somewhere with a fashion industry where I could use my skills. Somewhere far enough away that I'd never accidentally run into him at a restaurant or a gallery opening.

Somewhere I could raise this baby without his shadow hanging over us.

---

Tomorrow was the birthday party. Tomorrow I'd see Julian again. Face his family. Pretend everything was fine one last time.

And then I'd be done. Free. Gone.

But first, there was one more place I needed to go.

---

**Paws & Whiskers Café** looked exactly the same as always. Same neon sign. Same cozy warmth glowing through the windows. Same cats lounging in the front display.

I pushed open the door, and the bell chimed overhead.

Marie looked up from behind the counter, her face breaking into a smile. "Elena! Haven't seen you in forever. Where've you been, honey?"

"Busy," I said, forcing a smile. "Just... life got complicated."

Marie grinned and leaned in closer, dropping her voice like she was sharing juicy gossip. "Remember that cat who only ever liked you? Milo? Well, he's got a new best friend now."

"This ridiculously hot guy—I'm talking flawless fair skin, gorgeous face, broad shoulders, tiny waist. The works." She wiggled her eyebrows. "He's back there right now."